


On Sundered Lands

by FramedCuriosity



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Elves go to Narnia, Family, Gen, How Do I Tag, Hurt/Comfort, I'm not sure where this is going, Narnia doesn't know how to react, Not Beta Read, but i tried, elves being awesome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:41:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27065803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FramedCuriosity/pseuds/FramedCuriosity
Summary: When the crossing of worlds happens in the blink of an eye, three elves must find a way to survive in order to return home. Allies will be tested as enemies prowl in the dark. And bonds long broken may be reforged again, but only if all parties remain alive.
Comments: 46
Kudos: 61





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I really see no interest in this except my own, but I'm enjoying writing it, so we'll post it and see what happens!

He was suffocating. The darkness itself was pushing in around him in malice, and it seemed a mist surrounded him with its dark tendrils reaching down his throat and wrapping his lungs in a vice. Everything was intangible and corporeal all at the same time. It was as if it all was far away through a fog, yet it still echoed around him in vibrant cacophony. He was there, or perhaps it was here, or wherever he was, yet he was not a part of it. He was separate, a traveler. Though he knew not where he went, and could not recall from where he came. 

But before he could get used to it: all the nothingness, and the stalemate of such stillness that ensconced him--his world exploded. All his senses returned in astonishing clarity, reverberating around him in a loud cacophony of voices and sights, overcoming him in strangeness. 

The light was blinding. And all he could see was white.

Then the scene before him came into focus. And he wished for all the world that he could go back into the darkness. For Thranduil, King of Mirkwood, formerly known as Greenwood the Great, was in shock. Thranduil, the King who was known throughout the land (by those that did not truly know him) as unfeeling and impossible to perturb. He who was known for his methodical way of absorbing facts and enacting plans. He who just found himself ripped from all that he knew and thrust into a strange place all in a few seconds. He was panicking.

Humans. Humans everywhere.

They were all around him, pushing, and shoving, and talking. They talked to each other, and at each other, and over each other; all at the same time. He couldn’t take the noise! And they were all going someplace, but none to the same place. They were beside him, and in front of him, and behind him, and everywhere. And if he was in their way they would just push him out of the way, and into the path of another to be pushed out of the way again. 

And the smell! 

It pounded into him without mercy. He could smell the sweat of human and animal alike, not to mention the feces of said animals, and other things he could not name. It was too much. He couldn’t take it. He ran.

He did not know where he was or where he was going. All that mattered was getting somewhere quiet. He ignored the shouts of anger behind him as he pushed and pulled his way forward. All that mattered was getting out. He just had to get out. Out meant being able to breath. Out meant freedom. He made it to the edge of the street where at least one side of him was protected by the lining buildings. But it wasn’t enough. He could see no way out; every street he ran by was teeming with people.

But there. 

A small break in the crowd at the beginning of an alley. Against the stonewall was a wooden crate, and using it he vaulted upwards. Grabbing the edge of the eaves he pulled himself onto the roof. But still he was not free, for the roof he was on was barely cresting over another street. It seemed that whatever city he found himself in was built up a hill, like the many tiers of a cake. And it looked like he was still on one of the lower levels.

It also seemed that his wits were slowly returning to him. He took stock of himself. And to his utter relief he found that strapped to his side was his sword; though he vaguely wondered where his second sword was, but that was a problem for another time. He also found himself in his light leather armor. It seemed he was dressed for hunting. Hunting what, he did not know. But for now he needed a plan, or at least a semblance of a plan. 

Thranduil looked down. A shiver ran down his spine. He was not going down there. He looked up. It wasn’t any better. It was all teeming with people. What was this place? He shook his head. First he had to get somewhere alone, and then he could figure out what happened and where he was. He just had to get across the street then up a building. That was all. There was no time to think. With a leap he easily covered the two feet to the street above; landing with nary a sound. Then with a deep breath he plunged into the crowd.

It was all a blur. A constant stream of pulling, pushing and climbing. He shut himself off from the fact that none of this should be happening. He went through streets, he climbed up buildings, then he started again. All the while making sure he was moving up. And the higher he went the nicer the buildings got and the better dressed the people were. It was obviously getting wealthier the farther up he went, and to Thranduil’s great relief the buildings were also spread out more.This gave room for gardens and the planting of trees; which to his surprise, there were a lot of. 

But he felt no relief in the trees--only an uncertainty. He found himself feeling anxiety the closer he came to one. And he knew not why. It was disconcerting. Trees should have been his safe haven, not causing a niggling at the back of his mind. As if his subconscious was yelling at him to watch out. To not trust. If only he could remember. But again, such thoughts could wait for safety-- or whatever semblance he could find of it. 

He had paused on a roof, and to his utter relief the crowds were slowly clearing and the sun had started its slow descent downward. Soon it would be dark. And luckily the roof he was on was somewhat secluded. And it was flat, as opposed to the shingle clad v-shaped roofs he had run over in the lower levels. It also had a small three-foot wall around its perimeter, and at last he allowed himself to sink down with his back against it. He pulled his knees up against his chest and wrapped his arms around them. Laying his forehead down on his knees, he let out a weary sigh. This was wrong. This was all wrong. If only he could remember what had happened.

But he was tired. So tired. 

_ The glade was golden. It held no resemblance to the rest of the forest that was slowly being overcome by darkness. Though it did not seem as if it belonged to the forest; it seemed separate in its existence; a single stream of moonlight in a cloud filled midnight. It seemed not a part of his reality; yet there it stood. _

_ In it stood a great tree--it was grand, and beautiful, and enticing. It slithered into his thoughts and consumed them; until all he could think of was the tree.  _

_ And he was moving towards it. _

_ ‘Stop!’ he yelled in his head, ‘Pull back’. But his feet would not respond. They kept going. He was getting closer and closer. And it was calling and pulling. It was wrong, unnatural, and its essence overcame him. He was surrounded by something--other. And he was not strong enough to fight it. _

_ Before he knew it he was upon the tree, and slowly reaching, he went to touch it. _

Thranduil startled awake. It was dark, and all he could hear was his heart pounding in his chest, as if it was trying to get out. He was disoriented. He could not recognize where he was. There was stone under his hands and at his back, and this was not his forest. He could hear his breathing start to get louder and took a deep breath to try to calm himself.

Then he remembered everything. 

It wasn’t just a dream. It was real. As real as the hard stone beneath his hands. He had been hunting and there had been a glade. And the tree. It had called to him, and he had followed. He once again recalled the panic when he realized he could not stop walking towards it. His very will had been ripped from him, and that feeling would haunt him for millennia yet. 

Then there had been darkness, and a feeling of nonexistence. But it did not last, for before he knew it, he had been thrust into a foreign Mannish city. Nothing was familiar: from the way the humans dressed, to the words that had been yelled at him in his mad dash through the city. He did not know where in Middle Earth he could be. If this was even Middle Earth at all. The thought struck him as odd. But seeing as how he had been brought to this place by a magical tree, he couldn’t afford to rule anything out. 

A cool breeze caressed his cheek, causing him to close his eyes and raise his head to the night sky. With a deep breath he reached into the detached part of himself that he found solace in before any battle. It was the part that he had perfected through each tragedy of his long life. It was the part that had let him to continue to lead his people after the death of his father and two thirds of his army. It was the part that made him survive. And he was a master of survival. 

With an exhale he put away the frightened elf surrounded with uncertainty, and out he pulled the warrior. It was the part of himself he was most intimate with. For long before he had ever been a husband, father, or a king; he had been a warrior. 

He stood up, and grabbing the hilt of his sword, he felt comfort. He would figure out what was going on, then he would go home. He looked up at the twinkling masses in the night sky. And the comfort left him. These were not the stars he knew, and they told him nothing of where he could be. Looking out over the edge of the roof, it seemed that even though it was night, not all were asleep. Though it was only a few humans still about, and Thranduil could think of no better time to see this place he found himself in without the haze of panic.With his mind made up, he took a deep breath, as if he were about to dive into a deep pool, and vaulted off the roof. 

His landing was as soft as a snowflake in winter, and he made his way like a wraith down the almost empty street, pausing in dark corners whenever eyes strayed towards him. He was sure none had seen him, yet he could not shake the feeling that eyes were upon him, and he had learned never to ignore his instincts. There was a darkness in this place, and it had nothing to do with the night. He had felt the weight of such darkness before, and this place, wherever it was, was heavy. It seemed to surround him from all angles, pushing and pressing upon him, as if he was a light that needed to be snuffed out. It so overwhelmed his senses that he did not feel the danger until it was too late and an arrow had embedded itself in his shoulder. Then the darkness crowded him even further and the last thought he had before it fully consumed him was-- _ poison. _


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which more players join the game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to say this on chapter one, but this is my first time writing these characters, so I apologize if they are ooc at time. Though we know so little about some of them (such as Thranduil and Celeborn) that there is not really "set" characteristics for them (I am ignoring the Hobbit movies for the most part). I won't be posting this quickly for the most part, though I do have about eight chapters already written. And any feedback is appreciated!
> 
> P.S. There is a certain move in this chapter that is a nudge to a different show. See if you notice it ;)

This was not home. Celeborn, Lord of Lothlorien, was at a loss. For he stood upon a rock strewn plain, and this was not a place he knew. Perhaps he was hallucinating, and this was all a trick his mind was playing? Though he figured that if he was going to lose his mind it would have happened some thousand years before now. This was real, he was sure, though how, he did not know. All he knew was the feeling of hanging suspended in a void, then finding himself in a place he did not know. He made a full circle as he slowly took in his surroundings, his breath came in quick gasps and formed before him before disappearing. There was nothing but dried grass amid large rock formations, and far in the distance, a forest. He closed his eyes and tried to feel his wife through their bond, but there was nothing--solely a hollow void. His breath came even faster. Reaching to his belt he felt his axe and using it as an anchor he started slowing his breathing. It would do no good if he passed out because he was hyperventilating. The forest. He should go to the forest, and maybe the trees would hold some answers. 

Having decided on a course of action Celeborn took one more deep breath and held it before releasing it. He had a plan, and for right now, that was all that mattered. Then the ground shook, and deep voices seemed to overtake the atmosphere. Looking up, Celeborn saw three giants start to raise themselves up from behind one of the bigger rock formations, which all three towered over. He must have been really disoriented if he had not sensed them beforehand. One looked to be rubbing sleep out of its eyes, and if anyone was still looking after him, they would think him too small to worry over and go back to sleep.

He was not so lucky.

Speaking further unrecognizable words and with savage smiles aimed at each other and him, the giants lunged. They were slow and clumsy, though no less dangerous for outnumbering him and being, well, giants. As he dodged one pair of hands and deflected a dagger that was half his body length at the least, he was unable to avoid the fist that wrapped around him, pinning his arms and lifting him into the air.

He was going to suffocate. It would either be from the fist that was slowly trying to crush him, or the breath of the giant that had gotten him. He was slowly being moved toward the gaping mouth and he could see the excitement in the beady eyes. Then in a feat of desperation and strength, Celeborn ripped his arm--axe and all--from where it was pinned beside him, and in a quick move he sliced the giants neck open. Celeborn was instantly covered in the gushing blood as the giant flailed and gurgled, then fell, as if in slow motion.

Celeborn’s landing was not graceful as he barely kept his balance in the slick blood that now covered the ground. He was unprepared for the savage kick that crushed his already bruised ribs and sent him flying into a wall of rock. Looking up from where he landed he saw a foot coming in to crush him. He rolled away and sliced at the foot with his axe. The giant howled and jumped about pathetically. It was time to end this. Celeborn got up,wiping blood not his own from his eyes, and charged. It was pitiably easy to end the remaining two giants. He sliced one across the stomach and as he fell he grabbed its dagger and stabbed the other through the heart. Then once the first one finished falling, he cut its head clean off.

Celeborn stood amid the carnage and could not help but feel disgust--mostly at himself for being so sloppy. A cry from the skies drew his attention, and looking up he saw an eagle circling by then head towards the forest. The forest, that’s where he needed to go. With a deep breath that strengthened the muscles in his legs he began walking toward the trees.

* * * 

High King Peter of Narnia, The Magnificent, Emperor of the Lone Islands, and Lord of Cair Paravel was bored. But honestly, what sane being wouldn’t be? He had been stuck for hours trying to hold civil conversation with a bunch of flowery Colormen in the city of Tashbaan. He just wasn’t sure how much longer he could put up with listening to ‘what the old poets said’. Did no one speak for themselves in this country? It seemed every other word was some quote or another such saying, and for Peter, who liked to think of himself as a forward speaking, get to the point kind of fellow, it was frustrating. All this would be much easier if his brother had come as well. But King Edmund had seen it fit to go galavanting in the west, saying something about how since he was the Count of the Western March he should really see how the citizens were doing that way. It was all balony if one were to ask Peter. His good brother just didn’t want to come to Colorman, and had left Peter to his own devices, the sneak. So much for being called King Edmund the Just. 

But alas, Peter would just have to tough it out. Though in all honesty he would much rather be facing a giant or two. At least it would be less painful. And he was sure someone had mentioned some form of entertainment an hour or two ago. Somewhere between a poet's wisdom on correct crop placement and how the only proper way to drink tea was the way the Tisroc (may he have constipation) drank it. But as of yet no entertainment had appeared to save him his sanity.

But at last! Out of a door to the right, came a dozen brightly clad girls walking in a line. They caused a hush to fall throughout the grand room holding many higher ups (as long as they kept the Tisroc’s favor) of the Colorman government. The girls came to a stop in a large clear area in front of the long table where all the men sat.

Peter had never seen any dancing quite like this. The girls' clothing was colorful, full of pinks and yellows, and they all had bright ribbons that they threw around in coordinated disarray. It was quite a sight, and it ended far too quickly for his liking. The way Peter saw it, the more the girls danced the less he would have to talk. But he just had to hold out one more week, then it was home. The thought made Peter smile.

“I see the dance pleased you, O King.”

Peter turned toward the voice. It was the prince that had been entertaining him throughout the day. Well, he was  _ a _ prince, though he wasn’t very high up in the latter; seeing as how he was twenty-something in line to be Tisroc (May he stub his toe). He was all fake smiles and flattery, causing a sour feeling to form in Peters stomach when he was first introduced. And the feeling had never left. 

“It was a very nice dance,” Peter responded.

“You may have whichever you wish,” The prince continued with a smile and a twitch of his hand toward the dancers.

“Pardon?” Peter was quite confused. Surely the prince did not mean he could have one of the girls?

“Why the dancers, O King! Pick whichever you like. A gift,” he held out his hand as if it contained a handful of pretty trinkets. All Peter had to do was pick out the shiniest one.

“O Exalted Lords! Barbarian King! Feast your eyes upon a beast, a creature of barbarian lands!” 

The cry caught everyone’s attention, including the Prince’s. Luckily saving Peter from having to wrench a response from his shocked mind. He had been offered a living being as if it were nothing!

“See now O Great Ones! I bring you an enchanting creature of far off lands!” A man was standing where the dancers had been. Though now he had the floor all to himself. And with the movements of a showman and a grand gesture he pointed to the side. Out of the door where before the dancers had entered was dragged a man unlike any Peter had seen before. But this was no man. His very essence cried something other. And though he stood in chains with his clothes dirtied, bloodied, and ripped; he commanded the room. For all eyes were on him. 

The Being was fair and tall, towering over his captors. And Peter wondered for a moment if perhaps he was a form of dryad, but quickly dismissed the thought. This Being was far too material, and besides no dryad would have survived being forcefully taken from its tree. The very thought made a hot anger boil inside of Peter, but he clamped down on it. He could not afford it. But still, the thought of this Being belonging to a tree somehow felt right. 

He stood still, the Being, as he was showcased. All that moved were his eyes. Calculating. Judging. And cold as ice. Peter could not recall seeing such eyes. They were as a frozen lake: still and deep and ancient. There was a foreverness about the ageless face, for though he barely looked older than Peter himself, he seemed to radiate a knowing. Something Peter had only seen in the oldest oaks and wisest centaurs. 

The showman stepped up and grabbed a lock of the Beings hair, and Peter vaguely wondered if it burned, though from cold or heat he could not guess. For looking at the gossamer locks they seemed as warm as the sunlight they appeared to be filled with, yet they also looked as cold as a glacial mist. But then the man pulled the hair back, and all thoughts of texture left Peter’s mind. For a perfectly pointed ear was being showcased.

A gasp from many mouths resounded in the great room. Though Peter himself found that he wasn’t so shocked. For how could he, seeing as how he was the King of talking beasts and dancing trees. Pointed ears was not something that would perturb him. 

“A gift, O High One,” the man was looking at the Prince, “For you to present to the Tisroc (may he live forever)”. The look on the Prince’s face was calculating, but before he could respond, the showman was once again talking, “And a gift I bring for the Barbarian King!”

Once again out of the side door a man walked out. In his hand he carried a long wrapped bundle, and as he got closer Peter stood up to receive it. He could not help the small inhale of breath as he unwrapped it, for he had never seen such craftsmanship. It could even rival the work of his Narnian dwarves. In his hand he held a sword, and it resembled none he had seen before. For it seemed one long piece of steel (or silver, Peter could not quite recognize what it was made of); it had no hand guard, and it was engraved beautifully from the hilt to the very tip. It was a sword made for Kings. And Peter was all of a sudden very aware he was not the King it was made for, and seeing as how it could not possibly be of Colorman make; he loathed to think where it came from. But he was also aware of how he and his were greatly outnumbered, and he could ill afford to offend. 

With a deep breath he spoke, “Thank you, good sir, it is a mighty gift indeed”. 

But then Peter made the mistake of meeting the eyes of the Being. And oh how they burned. Where before they had been cold, now they smoldered. A fire had been lit in their depths, and Peter couldn’t help but remember that it was blue fire that burned the hottest. Then it clicked. For who else could such a sword belong to? But there was nothing Peter could do. And oh it gulled him! For though he was a King, this was not his country, and he had no say.

“Very nice. Does it speak?” the Prince had slowly risen and had started to make his way around the table toward the figures in the middle of the room. The movement caught the Being’s attention, and the burning gaze moved to the Prince. Peter couldn’t help but be relieved as the eyes released their hold on him.

“No, Great One, it is dumb,”

“Well it is better that way. It can be quite bothersome when they talk back.” The Prince was now in front of the being and reaching out the prince caught its jaw, moving the beings head from one side to the other as if he was inspecting a horse. It angered Peter to no end.

“Make it kneel,” the Prince’s voice was almost bored.

The men that had dragged the being in started trying to manhandle him to the ground, but he would not budge. He stood tall. And his eyes never left those of the prince, looking down from their higher perch. Indifferent. As if it was all below him. And the Prince’s nonchalant attitude started slipping. Until he was incensed. 

With an angry growl, the Prince kicked up his leg, and with his foot on the chain that held the beings hands together, made to pull down. It was a well practiced move, and Peter was sure that it had worked many times, causing an unsuspecting slave to fall to their knees with the chain caught beneath the Prince’s foot. But it didn’t work. The Being would not budge, and Peter had to wonder at its strength. The Prince was left with one foot in the air and a face that was getting redder by the minute. It was quite comical in Peter’s eyes.

Then in a quick move that Peter nearly missed. The Being moved the chain so it caught the Prince’s ankle and with minimum movement but obvious strength he pulled. And the Prince went flying backwards. A Gasp resounded across the room, and then silence followed. It seemed as if all was frozen.

Until with a great growl the stunned Prince launched himself off of the ground, and pulling his scimitar free he aimed a blow at the Being’s neck. It would be fatal. Except it never connected. With a loud ringing it was stopped mere inches from slicing through flesh. In a quick move the Being had used the chain between his hands to stop the blade. The Prince tried to pull his scimitar free, but it would not budge.

All those watching had stood to their feet and the sound of guards drawing their blades resounded across the room. Though none of that seemed to matter to the Being standing resolute in the middle of the grand room.

“Take him!” The Prince was still trying to pull his blade back, “Take him, and teach him about his better!”

The Being still would not let go of the scimitar, and it seemed that he did not even feel the club blows that were raining down on his back. Until at last, without any warning, he let go. The Prince, who had been pulling with all his might once again went flying backwards to land in a heap on the ground. Peter could have sworn that he saw a corner of the Being’s mouth slightly rise up in what could be nothing but a smirk. Peter himself agreed, for he himself was hard pressed not to laugh. 

Though now it seemed that the defiance had gone out of the Being, and he let himself be dragged away. And Peter could do nothing but watch, and wonder of his fate. Whatever it be, it could not be good. Especially not after the spectacle he had made of the Prince. Once again, Peter was assailed by feelings of helplessness. He hated it! He was a king, and not just that, but a High King! Helpless should never fit into his portrayal. But here he was, and it angered him.

With a strained smile the Prince dismissed all in the room, and then without a backwards glance he swept out of the side door. For his part, Peter fled as quickly as his dignity allowed. He really wished that he didn’t have to become a spectacle to all of Tashbaan on his return to the house given to him for his stay. The constant yelling of ‘ Way. Way. Way’ could really get on one's nerves, and Peter also didn’t understand why they had to call him ‘Barbarian King’. It seemed to him that King would suffice just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you notice it?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a meeting occurs.

Half a week later found Peter ensconced in the privacy of solitude. The house he had been given was quite spacious, and Peter found himself staring out of a grand window in one of the many sitting rooms. 

“Might I enquire as to what lays so heavy upon you my Lord?”

The voice made Peter jolt. Turning his head he saw Lord Peridan making his way to the window.

“I was merely thinking,” Peter said with a small smile. Crossing his arms he continued to stare out the window.

“All this thinking may not have something to do with a certain King, and a couple of Queens, could it?”

Now a full smile bloomed across Peter’s face, “You seem to know me quite well.”

Lord Peridan returned the smile, “It comes with the territory, Your Majesty.”

“Now please Peridan, could you leave off with the formalities. We’re friends, remember?”

“Of course, sorry Sir,” His response got an agitated glare sent to him by the royal. To which Peridan’s response was a smile. But then his face grew serious, “Though it seems to me that it is not family, nor home, that weigh down your thoughts.”

Peter let out a weary sigh, “No, it is not. It's this whole country, and the way life is treated. It is not a sacred thing here.”

“Does your anger perhaps stem from the man you saw at the dinner days ago?”

“I do not believe the term ‘man’ would suffice. He was something different,”

“By your description, I would have to agree. I do not recall meeting any sons of Adam with pointed ears,”

“It is true that what I saw that day angered me. But I have seen many other things in this place,” Peter turned and looked Lord Peridan in the eyes, “And I am helpless to do anything. I do not know the fate of that Being, whatever he may be. Am I not a High King? The equal of the Tisroc. Yet I have no say.”

“I do not know how to counsel you, my Lord, for we find ourselves in a strange and cruel place. Yet they label us the barbarians. Though I have no doubt that if we do not watch ourselves, our wellbeing could be in danger.”

“That is very true, Lord Peridon. It is a perilous place, this Colorman,” a new voice spoke from behind them, causing Lord and King to turn around.

“Captain Oron, we did not hear you enter,” Peter told the Faun who was in charge of his protection while he was abroad. 

A small smile graced the Captains features, “Not many do, Your Majesty. Though I did not mean to eavesdrop. I came to report that the Prince that has been entertaining you has been spotted headed this direction with quite a large entourage.”

“And here I thought I had seen the last of him,” Peter’s annoyance was made known by the crease between his brows.

“What would you have me do, my King?”

“Have Savvick keep an eye on them, and keep me appraised.”

“It is done.” With a bow the captain left.

Turning to Lord Peridon Peter said, “Let us go and prepare for our guests. It seems this adventure is not yet over.”

  
  


The Prince had set a leisurely pace, and was taking his time to arrive. Peter, in his Kingly dress was reclining in a rather large chair situated in the largest parlor of the borrowed house. Also in attendance were Lords Peridon and Alastair-- a severe looking dark haired man; with the powerful arms and shoulders of a swordsman that came in contrast with the graying at his temples that betrayed his age. Behind Peter stood Captain Oron as still as a statue, and beside him stood Gamri-- a black dwarf, and one of the few who had fought for a free Narnia since the beginning, and afterward had pledged his life to always serve the Kings and Queens.

A flapping at the window drew everyone's attention. On the sill stood a very large raven.

“What news have you Savvick?” the King asked.

Bowing his head the raven answered, “My Lord, the Colorman approach, and it seems they bring with them a prisoner.”

“A prisoner? Could you make out his features?”

“No, King, He is a Son of Adam, it seems, taller than those around him, and his hair is very light, though it is long. I could tell you no more.”

“Well, my King, we will soon find out what this Prince wants,” Lord Peridon said as he saw a guard approach, “For it seems he is here.”

“The Prince is at the gate, my King,” the arriving guard said.

“Show him here,” Peter stated

With a bow, the guard left. 

“O Barbarian King, it fills my heart with joy to see you once again,” the Prince was practically dripping in honey.

Still sitting in his chair, Peter gave a nod of acknowledgement, and said, “How is it that I may help you.”

The smile dropped off of the Prince’s face, it seemed he did not appreciate not being spoken to in reverence. But Peter didn’t really care what the Prince appreciated. He was a King, he did not grovel to princes.

“I bring a gift for you, O King, from the Tisroc (may he live forever) himself.” 

The prince gestured to a guard behind him, and to Peter’s surprise, in was dragged the golden haired being. He looked much worse than the last time Peter had seen him. It was obvious that he had faced a whip, and much else. There was not a part of his exposed skin that was not marked. It caused such an anger in Peter that he feared he would kill the Prince with his bare hands. But he forced himself to stay seated and keep the hate off his face. It was one of the hardest things Peter had ever done.

“I thank you, Prince. It is very kind of The Tisroc. Please convey my thanks to him,” at least he managed to keep his voice even.

With a stiff bow the Prince realized that Peter did not intend to say anything else and turning he left with his entourage. It was obvious that he wasn’t too happy with the reception his gift got, he was expecting Peter to be much more excited it seems. 

As for the gift himself, he stood still as a statue in the middle of the parlor, looking it seemed, to some far off spot out the window. Until the movement of Peter slowly getting up from his chair, caught his attention. And Peter once again found himself caught in that gaze. But this time instead of finding one of the polar spectrum of ice or flame, he found nothing. The gaze was empty, devoid of all, be it hate or love--if there was any left to be found at all. And it scared Peter more than the flaming angered gaze he had met before. 

He took a step closer to the Being, and to Peter’s relief he saw the cerulean eyes sharpen and a warning flash through them. It seemed the fight had not fully gone out of the Being. Peter paused his movement, and slowly stretched out his hand towards lord Peridan, who had gotten the keys to the shackles that adorned the Being, and waited for them to slowly be placed in his hand. Then with key in hand Peter started walking forward slowly, until he stood before the Being. Neither of them moved, until at last Peter raised the key and gestured to the shackles, asking. Peter was sure a lifetime had passed before the shackled hands were slowly raised up, and just as slowly Peter opened them. He showed no reaction to the broken and bleeding skin that they left in their wake, he was sure the Being would not have appreciated it. And as the shackles fell Peter sensed Captain Oron tense, prepared to intervene on his King’s behalf, and no doubt Gamri stood beside him just as battle ready. It seemed the Being also noticed, causing him to also tense, and for all his bedraggled and bloody appearance, Peter could not help but feel that he was a force to be reckoned with. 

Backing up--much to his Captains relief--Peter spoke to Gamri, though he did not take his eyes from the Being, “Would you be so kind, Gamri, and bring some food for our guest.”

As the dwarf made his way out of the parlor, the Beings eyes followed his every step with obvious distrust. Peter was not sure if he could gain his trust, though he did figure that the Colormen were not great hosts and his new guest was probably hungry. 

It was a tense time as they waited for the dwarfs return. Peter wanted nothing more than to have the Being sit down and have his wounds looked after, but he knew that that was not possible, at least not yet.

It was one of the longest fifteen minutes of Peter's life, or so it felt, until at last Gamri returned carrying a tray brimming with food. He set it on a table situated in front of a comfortable looking couch that was pushed up against one of the walls. Now for the hard part. Peter wasn’t sure how he was going to convince the Being that it was a better idea to sit and eat in a room full of strangers than to try to fight his way out. Which really should have been common sense, but seeing how the Being had already been treated he was probably expecting the food to be poisoned. And with that thought an idea struck. Slowly moving toward the couch, Peter took a seat, and then looking expectantly at the Being he gestured to the empty spot. Then he waited. 

Peter wished he could tell what the Being was thinking, but he just stood in the middle of the room and looked at everyone present in turn, until his eyes landed on the food, then on the couch, and at last, on Peter. He was gauging them, Peter realized, it was obvious to anyone that this was no dumb beast--as the Colormans seemed to think--but an intelligent individual capable of weighing all his options. And for whatever reason, Peter felt that the Being had weighed more options than Peter himself could see available. 

Deciding that he should move things along a little more, Peter took an apple from the tray and slowly took a bite from it, then just as slowly he outstretched his hand toward the Being-- offering the apple. Peter really hoped he didn’t just offend, but he could not think of another way to show that the food was, in fact, not poisoned. 

The Being stared. Peter waited. Then as if in slow motion a pale hand reached forward and to Peter's surprise, took the apple. Then to much greater surprise the Being-- on cautious steps-- made his way to the couch and gracefully sat down. It seems the options had been weighed, and a decision reached.

* * * 

Thranduil was hungry. He hadn’t been given anything except a couple handfuls of water since his capture, if he had been a man he would most likely have died, but he doubted his captors would have minded too much. They were cruel, those men, but for whatever reason he had scared them, or something had scared them. Whatever it was it had caused them enough fear to get rid of him as quickly as possible. Why they did not just run a blade through his heart he did not know, but now he found himself in a new situation--with entirely new creatures. Except the men and dwarf. And at least the dwarf was familiar, even if he usually avoided them. But the men, they were different than the ones he had already had the displeasure of meeting. They were...well he had yet to fully see what they were, but at least they were better--for now. One thing he was sure of was that the window was enticingly close and if he made it he could...he could. He could what? Get caught again? He still did not know where he was nor did he know the language. And if he was honest with himself, he was not exactly in good enough condition to take on a room full of warriors. It was obvious that that was what they were.

Thranduil looked to the man sitting beside him. He seemed young--even by mannish standards--but an obvious King, and not just by the crown on his head. They made eye contact and Thranduil was almost taken aback by what he saw in the blue gaze. It was kindness. Then the man slowly (he had been doing everything slowly) reached toward the tray and grabbing a goblet that was obviously filled with water, he handed it towards Thranduil, who in turn looked suspiciously upon it. Then with a small smile, the man brought the goblet to his lips and drank from it, then he once again handed it to Thranduil, who accepted it. The water could have been from the pits of Angband for all Thranduil cared; to him it tasted as if he was drinking from the very palm of Yavanna herself. Though he was sure not to guzzle it--he was going to keep any remaining dignity he had left. 

The King beside him started talking to the others. The words were unlike any he had known before. They were definitely a mannish tongue, yet not one he had heard before. Now that he was sitting down he became very aware of how much he actually hurt, and he was sure he was still bleeded in multiple spots, as well as the original wound on his shoulder was probably infected, but he could not give in--not yet. 

Then the dwarf (on what seemed a command from his King) left again, and Thranduil could not help but track him out of the room. But then the man caught his attention back by taking another item off the tray and once again taking a bite out of it before handing it to Thranduil. This must be what a skittish horse felt like; yet Thranduil could not muster up the energy to be offended. He just took the offered food and ate.

* * *

Peter continued taking bites out of every new food item before handing them to the Being and he could tell everyone else in the room was tense. He had sent Gamri back out for medical supplies--he just hoped the Being would accept it. It was obvious he was hurt, and bad. Peter was not quite sure what was keeping him conscious--other than pure stubbornness--but Peter was sure that sooner than later his body would give out.

“Sir, I would advise caution,” Captain Oron spoke quietly from where he had come to stand guard beside the King.

“Of course, Captain,” Peter said.

“I am not comfortable with you putting yourself in such a position. We do not know what he is capable of, Your Majesty.”

“Look at him Captain. I do believe we are quite capable of handling anything he might decide to do. Besides I am comfortable in my position,” Peter smirked, “You have to hand it to these Colormen, at least they have comfortable couches.”

The Captain's only response was an agitated exhale. It brought the eyes of the Being to the faun. They were not scared or glassed over as might be expected of someone in his state, no, instead they were calculating--weighing. 

“I would not underestimate him, your Majesty,” Captain Oron said as he held the blue gaze.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which more players join the game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do try to read over for any mistakes before posting, but sometimes a few slip through the cracks, so I apologize for those.

Celeborn blocked out the pain from his broken ribs. His mind was solely focused on getting to the trees, and then he could worry about the little things (like broken ribs) and the big things (like he had been magically transported to a different place). He was so close, he could smell the fern on the breeze. It was right as he crossed the tree line that he felt...off. He was not alone, he could feel it. The eagle flew over his head and landed on a tall branch. It stared at Celeborn, shifting its head from side to side as if in contemplation. A branch snapped to his left and he tilted his head in its direction. Though he did not fully turn, choosing instead to face forward with the tree line at his back. Another branch snapped, but it was more to his right now. He knew it, he was surrounded. He brought his axe up and waited. He would not move, let them come to him. He was patient, he could wait. 

Slowly they came out from behind the trees and bushes, until they formed a semi-circle around him. Though they were not men or dwarfs, or even other elves. They were different, even unto themselves. Though Celeborn could see a man or two among them, and a couple dwarfs as well, there were other creatures. Some were half man and half horse or half something else, Celeborn could not place them. And they were all armed. 

One of the horse-man stepped forward, He looked Celeborn up and down. And suddenly Celeborn was very aware that he was covered in blood. It had drenched his clothes and face, and he was sure his hair was more red than silver, the chances of this encounter ending in more blood went up with his realization. 

The horse-man then spoke. His voice was deep and his language was strange.

“I can not understand you.” Maybe they knew his language, and if not then they would at least know that they did not speak the same language.

The horse-man looked confused and then spoke again. 

“I do not speak your language.” Celeborn shook his head for good measure.

The horse-man seemed to understand as when he spoke again he added gentures. He pointed at Celeborn’s axe and made a down motion. Celeborn understood, but that did not mean he would comply. He shook his head no.

The horse-man tried again. Celeborn shook his head no and gripped his axe tighter. The horse-man understood, and annoyance flashed through his face with the understanding. A new voice spoke. It was a man, he was behind and to the right of the horse-man, and as he spoke he drew and notched an arrow. He pointed it at Celeborn. 

Celeborn strengthened his stance and brought his axe up--challenging. If it had been orcs he would have bared his teeth in a promise of blood. But he did not want blood. He wanted to go home, but to go home he had to be alive, and he was not quite sure that he could survive this second confrontation. He was highly outnumbered and he did not know their level of expertise 

* * *

Oh what a glorious day today was going to be! Lucy was sure of it. Not only was it utterly perfect outside, with a sweet breeze mingling and dancing with the sun’s rays, but Peter was returning! And just last week Edmund had come back, and he had brought the most wonderful guest! They were not quite sure exactly what he was. Though he did look like a son of Adam, except for his pointed ears of course, but he did not feel like a human; at least not to Lucy. She could not put her finger on why she felt this, but there was something about his presence, about the warmth in his eyes, or that on occasion he seemed to nearly glow, that just yelled ‘not human’. Perhaps he was some form of dryad, or fairy, or something. Whatever he was, it did not matter much to Lucy, she liked him--and that was that. Of course it did not seem to be enough for General Oreius, who for whatever reason had taken a dislike to their guest, or perhaps it was not dislike, but caution. All the same, he could stand to be a whole lot friendlier, especially to someone who was obviously far from home and very confused. Why, their guest did not even know the common tongue! Though that would not be a problem for long, Lucy was sure, as she had made it her personal mission (with a lot of help from Ed) that their guest would be able to communicate, without any trouble, in no time. 

But now was not the time for her to ruminate on such things. Peter would be here any minute now, and she was set on meeting him at the dock! Looking at the overly frilly dress her sister had had laid out for her, Lucy scrounged up her nose, that would not do. Instead she settled for a much simpler lighter dress--one of her favorites. She loved the way it felt, and often wondered if that was what the dryads felt like in their leaf forms--unencumbered and free.

She went out trying her best not to run through the halls, and it was right before the gates that in her grand bid for freedom she ran right into a solid mass. Strong hands grabbed her before she could hit the ground. Looking up she realized who she had just run into.

“Elrond!” She was sure she was butchering his name, at least it definitely didn’t sound quite right coming out of her mouth.

“Queen Lucy,” he said with an elegant bow, “Forgive...me,” he spoke slowly--deliberately grasping for each word, as if his mouth was not made to speak such a language. And with the exotic mark he left on each word it was obvious he was used to forming much more elegant sounds. 

“Oh no! You do not have to be sorry! It was my fault! My brother is coming and I was so excited to get to the dock that I was not watching where I was going and completely ran into you!” She looked up to a very confused face. Oh right. He barely spoke her language and here she was talking as if she were a squirrel. She took a breath and slowly spoke again and this time added hand gestures, “No. Not you. It was me.”

He understood her, and with an elegant nod of his head he accepted her words. 

“Why don’t you join me?” She gestured for him to follow, and he did. Though she wasn’t quite sure if he understood why he was following her.

* * * 

There it was! Peter's ship had slowly been getting closer and closer, and not for a moment had Lucy taken her eyes off of it. She had missed her big brother very much of course, and she could not wait to be told about all his adventures! She could barely contain herself as it docked. Her brother and sister stood to her left with General Oreius and the royal guards beside him. Elrond still stood beside her (though he had scooted a bit behind, seeming to know his place was not in front) where she had dragged him when he began to walk too slow for her tastes. 

Peter’s ship docked at last, and there he was! Her big brother embodied the very essence of the title he had earned--magnificent. Lucy could hardly contain herself as he regally walked up the dock to where they waited. She was so excited she was practically dancing in place, until at last he was before them, and very properly, he bowed. Just as properly (at least from Susan and Edmund) the bow was returned. Lucy could no longer hold back (nor could Peter for that matter), and before she knew it she rushed into his arms and squeezed for all her life was worth.

“I missed you too, Lu,” he said in amusement as she finally let go.

With the hug out of her system, she is then able to say hi to everyone else that had gone with Peter. There was Peridan, and Captain Oron, oh and Gamri! She was so glad to have them back! Then at the very last walked someone whom Lucy did not know. From a distance all she could say about him was that he was tall and had long blond hair. Then once he got close enough and she could see clearly, she sucked in a breath. He was, well beautiful, was her first thought, but then she realized (once seeing his ears) that he was another like Elrond. And she was certain of one thing, this was no man.

The deep voice behind her startled her, and seemed to have caught everyone else’s attention as well. It was Elrond, and he spoke again, this time louder. Looking to where the other...well other one...was, Lucy saw his head snap towards the sound. Then Elrond spoke again. It was one word he was saying. Lucy would have bet that it was a name.

The other one, cautiously came nearer, as if unsure if he was being tricked. But Elrond made quick work of the distance between them and much like Lucy had done to Peter encircled the other in a hug. Though unlike Peter, the other one did not immediately reciprocate. He was stiff and unsure, until slowly, as if he was unaware of what he was expected to do, he returned the hug. Then, much quicker that Lucy and Peter had, they let go. Though they still talked in hushed tones.

Lucy took the time to study them. How similar yet different they were. There was a warmness around Elrond, a domesticity--especially in places such as the library, where he would immerse himself in trying to learn a new language. Yet in the other one, Lucy could feel no warmth (though she was rather far away, but still, she was rather good at “feeling” others). Instead he felt...wild. 

Then saying one last thing, Elrond led them back to where Lucy and the others waited.

“Everyone, this is Thranduil,” Peter announced. 

So that was what Elrond had been calling--the others name. Though it had sounded different coming from Elrond himself. She inclined her head to him in greeting and received the gesture back--very elegantly. Now that she was closer to him and able to take him in, Lucy was able to pinpoint what it was that he felt like. He felt fey, as if in any moment he could fly off in the wind and would only be heard of again dancing with the dryad in the starlight. Yet it would be a cold wind that would take him, and perhaps it would war with Elrond’s warmth beforehand. Yes, this Thranduil was not at all like Elrond, and in many more ways than the gold of his head.

“Thranduil, these are my brother and sisters. King Edmund and Queens Susan and Lucy,” Peter continued.

Elrond whispered something to Thranduil and an understanding lit up the blond’s eyes (and they were really very pretty eyes). And Thranduil--seeming now to understand their station--drew himself up and bringing his hand to his chest he swept it out towards them while bowing his head. It almost felt like a blessing; a showing of respect that Lucy felt was rare. Yet Lucy’s warm feeling at the gesture was stifled when she saw the fading marks on the wrist--scars. And she wasn't the only one that noticed if the pinch between Elrond’s eyebrows was anything to go by. Though luckily, Lucy was able to gather her attention in time to return a regal nod to the gesture. With the introduction taken care, they all began the walk back to the palace.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which conversations are had.

“What happened to you Thranduil?” Elrond's voice was both disbelieving and demanding.

Him and Thranduil were both in the room given to Elrond. It was a spacious room with its own sitting area and fireplace. Thranduil sat on the couch looking as relaxed as if he lounged on his own throne.

“About the same things that happened to you, I would assume.” 

“Now is not the time for your wit, Thranduil,” Elrond admonished as he came to stand before him and grabbing Thranduil’s wrist as if showcasing it, said, “it is obvious that the same thing did not happen to us.”

Extricating his wrist from Elrond’s grasp, Thranduil let out a sigh and said, “What would you like me to say Elrond?”

“The truth, to begin with, would suffice.”

“Alright,” Thranduil paused, seeming to to try to find a place to start, “There was a tree. I do not know where it came from. It did not seem…natural. I got too close to it and,” he took a breath, “and I could not control myself as I walked toward it. Then I was, and only for a moment, weightless. In that moment I both was and was not. It was...disconcerting.”

“Disconcerting, does not quite seem to cover the feeling,” Elrond said.

“It happened the same way with you?”

“In a sense. Except that for me it was a waterfall, not a tree. But other than that, the experience was similar,” Elrond sad down beside Thranduil on the couch, “Then what happened.”

Thranduil let out a sigh, “I found myself in a mannish city. It was...a shock. I was disoriented, but I managed to find someplace safe until nightfall, it was then that I decided to find out more about where I had appeared. It was a mistake. I was taken.”

Elrond waited, thinking Thranduil would continue but as the silence dragged on he let out a breath and spoke, “Who took you?”

Thranduil gave a semblance of a shrug. “Men. I could not understand them. They were different then these men here and they seemed to think that they could own others.”

“Slavers,” the word tasted like ash on Elrond's tongue.

“Yes,” Thranduil simply said.

“What did they do?”

Thranduil leaned his head on the back of the couch and with a weary sigh said, “It does not matter now.”

It did matter, but Elrond could see that he was not going to get anywhere further on the subject. Thranduil and him were not near close enough for him to try to needle such information out of him. Not anymore. They were no longer simply comrades that had faced war and death together. Yes, they had stood upon the same battlefield, but that was long ago. And Thranduil had stood upon other battlefields since then--in defense of his Kingdom--and Elrond had not. It was a gap that stood between them. One that Elrond did not know how to breach, and he feared that the time to breach it had long past. But for a moment at the dock, all Elrond had seen was his comrade and friend, and the feeling of hope and joy--joy that he was not alone anymore, and hope that with Thranduil here they would be able go home--had overwhelmed him as he rushed to embrace the image of his old friend. Perhaps it had not been the proper thing to do, but it was not like a lot of proper things had been happening to him as of late.

“How did you find yourself a guest here?”

Thranduil's words brought Elrond out of his musings, “It is not as exciting a story as yours,” he said.

Thranduil raised a brow, “I would still like to hear it,” he said. 

“Well, I already told you about the waterfall. It was much the same as your experience. It called to me, and the closer I got to it, the less I was able to command myself away from it. Then it took me and I found myself in a wood. I wondered about for half a day before I was found by King Edmund. He brought me here to the palace and I have been here ever since.” 

“How long have you been here,” Thranduil asked.

“I would say about a month and one week,” Elrond said.

“It seems that you have been here longer than I.”

“Then that would lead to the thought that we were not taken at the same time. If only we could understand how we were taken and why, then we could perhaps find a way to return,” Elrond said.

“Yes,” Thanduil said, “If only.”

* * * 

“They just gave him to you?” Lucy said aghast.

“Why would they do that? From what you said he did, I would have thought that he would have just been killed?” Edmund asked.

“I am not actually sure. But from what Savvick overheard, they thought he was some kind of demon. It seemed to scare them too much to kill him. Maybe they thought that if they had, something worse would happen to them,” Peter said.

“Well that would make sense. And in Colorman fashion they gave him to you,” Edmund said.

“Exactly,” Peter said.

“Has he said anything?” Susan asked.

“No, he has only spoken his name. And that was after me repeating mine. He does not know our language, the same as what you have told me of Elrond,” Peter said.

“Well Elrond has made great progress in the time he has been here. I am sure it won’t be too long before he’ll be able to speak quite fluently...It’s remarkable actually, the speed in which he has grasped the language,” Edmund said.

“Yes, well, it’s obvious that they are quite intelligent...whatever they are,” Peter said, “Seeing as we are on the subject of our guest--where has Thranduil gone?”

“I believe he is with Elrond,” Susan said.

“Why don’t we go pay our proper respects, and make sure he is comfortable,” Peter said.

Elrond had been situated in the guest quarters, which was on the other side of the palace from the royal chambers in which the four siblings had been discussing Peter’s recent travels.

General Oreius joined them before they arrived at Elrond's door, emphatically saying that he could not let his majesties be alone with guests he did not trust. It was now a party of five that greeted Elrond as he opened his door. If he was surprised by finding all four monarchs and high general knocking at his door then Elrond did well in hiding his surprise beyond the raising of an eyebrow. Peter decided that he liked him.

“Your Majesties, welcome,” Elrond said. He’s accent was nothing short of exotic.

Thranduil, who had been sitting on the couch, made to get up at their arrival but stopped at a gesture from Peter.

“Please, this is an informal visit,” Peter said, but it was obvious that Thranduil responded to the gesture and not his words. “Are you well?” Peter continued.

It seemed that that was one of the phrases that Thraduil had come to understand the meaning of on their journey back, and as such he nodded in response.

“Good,” Peter said, “We came to see if there was anything you needed.” Though his words were aimed more at Elrond in the hopes that at least he would understand. It seemed to take a second, but Elrond looked to understand the gist of it and in the melodious language that he spoke he translated for his friend. At least Peter assumed they were friends, but maybe hugs was how enemies greeted each other in whatever culture they were from--who was Peter to know.

Thranduil responded in the same language. It was more than Peter had ever heard him say. His voice was low and smooth and made Peter think of a deep blue lake.

“He...has...no need” Elrond’s words were slow in coming but he got his point across.

“Well he obviously needs new clothes,” Susan spoke up, “Those he has are much too short.” And with that she turned and opening the door she spoke to whoever happened to be passing by at the time.

“Right,” Peter said. Susan was not wrong. Thranduil's own clothes had not been salvageable and Peter--being the closest to his height-- had given Thranduil some of his own. Though they were still too short in the sleeves and legs.

“And I am sure both he and Elrond would appreciate that he has his own room,” Edmund said with an amused twinkle in his eyes. For whatever reason he found Peter’s lack of knowledge on what their guest might need as funny. Honestly, sometimes Peter just did not understand his brother's sense of humor.

“Luckily,” Edmund continued, “This parlor has two adjoining rooms.” He walked across the sitting area and opening a door to the far right he beckoned Thranduil to follow. Once their golden haired guest had joined him at the open door, Edmund pointed at Thranduil and then at the bedroom and simply said, “Yours.” Thranduil seemed to understand.

A knock at the door grabbed everyone's attention. It was Susan who opened it.

“I was told my assistance was needed, dearie.” In came Mrs. Beaver with a satchel slung across her shoulder. Upon seeing who all was in the room, a surprised, “Oh,” left her lips and she started trying to brush her fur, “Goodness, I didn’t know this was going to be a formal affair.” 

“Don’t worry Mrs. Beaver, It’s not,” Lucy said with one of her sweet smiles.

“We simply needed your expertise,” Susan said, “But first I’d like you to meet our guests. This is Elrond, I do not think you have met him, though he has been our guest for sometime, and this is Thranduil.” The introduction got identical nods of the head from the guests.

Mrs. Beaver curtsied as she said, “it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“We asked you here because Thranduil needs some new clothes,” Susan said.

“Say no more. I’d be more than delighted to help,” Mrs. Beaver patted her bag, “I’ve got all my things here. We can get started right now.” She walked up to Thranduil, “My, aren’t you a tall one. Well I can’t get at ya all the way up there, you’re just going to have come down to me, dear.”

Thranduil looked down at the beaver perplexed. It was a funny sight, at least to Peter it was, what with Mrs. Beaver about as tall as Thranduil's knee.

“I am afraid that he does not speak our language Mrs. Beaver,” Susan helpfully said.

“Oh, well that’s alright,” Mrs. Beaver looked at Thranduil and then started to pull his pant leg toward the couch, “This way dear.”

Thranduil followed, if somewhat confusedly. He looked at Elrond for guidance, but the dark haired guest was just as lost and all he could offer was a shrug.Thranduil was on his own. 

“Now you just sit right there, dear,” Mrs. Beaver said as she nudged Thranduil's leg toward the couch, insinuating that he should sit down. He did.

She then climbed up on the other side of the couch and pulled out her measuring tape, then grabbing his sleeve she lifted his arm up, “tut tut, now this is much too short!” she muttered to herself. “Oh you poor, dear!” She then said when she saw the marks on his wrist. She then looked up to scrutinize his face. His only response was a raising of an eyebrow.

“You're not a son of adam at all, are you dear?” She said.

“No, Mrs. Beaver, we do not think they are,” Susan said.

“Well if I didn’t know any better I’d say you were an elf,” Mrs Beaver said as she reached a paw to move the golden strands of hair around a pointed ear. Thranduil looked questioning at her. “Oh you poor thing, you don’t know what's going on, do you? Well don’t worry, we’ll have you well looked after.” She then affectionately patted his cheek, before going back to measure his arm.

“An elf? But are they not supposed to be small,” Lucy asked

“Small? Oh no dear, where did you hear that?”

Lucy looked thoughtful, “Well I don’t know. It was just a feeling, as if it was something I once thought, or saw in a dream perhaps.”

Peter understood the feeling. The word did bring back a feeling of winter...and sweets. “General,” Peter looked at the centaur, who had been silently standing by the door, “What do you know of elves?”

“Nothing. I do not know of any such beings living in Narnia.”

“That is true. All we know of them is from half destroyed scrolls in which they were pictured dancing with the dryads. But that was long before the witch,” Mrs. Beaver said as she measured.

“Well whether they are elves or not, we have something to call them now,” Edmund said.

At least there was that, though Peter decided that he would look up any information he could find on these elves.

“All right, lad, let's measure those long legs of yours,” Mrs. Beaver said as she got off the couch and gestured for Thranduil to get up, which he did. Having him hold one end of the measuring tape to his waste, she managed to measure his pant leg. “That’s all I need dears, though he really needs to be fed better, poor thing.” She patted his leg before she gathered her things and with a quick curtsy waddled away.

  
  



	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which reunions are had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to get this chapter out before I left, so happy Thanksgiving to everyone and stay safe!

Thranduil watched the beaver leave. At the point he was at in his long life, there were not very many firsts to be had, but this whole experience went down as a first--for he could not say that he had ever been measured by a beaver before.

The royals, seeming to have completed their goal of asking after his needs soon left, followed by their stern faced guard. He did not seem to trust Thranduil, which was fine. It was to be expected. Thranduil did not trust them either.

“That is something I never thought I would see,” Elrond said with a chuckle.

“What are you going on about, Peredhel?”

“Oh nothing, I just never thought I would see the King of the Great Greenwood being bossed about by a beaver.”

Thranduil let out a breath of irritation, “Well It is a first for me, I assure you.” He looked at what was to be his room, the bed had looked comfortable and it had been too long since he had truly rested, “If you do not mind, I believe I shall retire.”

“No you will not. Not until I have a chance to examine you.”

“Pardon?”

“I mean it. You will not say what happened to you, but I am going to make sure you are ok.”

“Elrond, I assure you. I am fine,” Thranduil straightened and draped himself in regality. He wove a power about his presence that made him seem as an immovable mountain that would not bow to the raging storm. He was a being that would make those less ancient quake. “Goodnight, Elrond.”

But Elrond was not less ancient. They were both creatures of the first age and neither would bow to the other, “Thranduil, I just want to make sure you are alright.”

“Take my word for it, Elrond. I am fine.”

“Dammit Thranduil,” normally Elrond had infinite patience, but these were not normal circumstances, “Right now we are all we have, and I will make sure you are alright!”

Silence fell heavy as the King and Lord stared at each other, until at last, the King lowered his head in acquicence. Elrond was right, but oh how Thranduil wished he could just...rest. He had not allowed himself to let his guard down since his abrupt arrival and though he would not tell the elf Lord, but Elrond’s presence made him feel safe.

“Thank you,” Elrond said, “Come here then and take off that shirt. You can use one of mine, though I am afraid you will have the same trouble with the length but at least it will be clean.”

Thranduil let out a burdened breath and fortified himself against what he knew was coming. He had not exactly been honest in saying that he was fine. He was fine enough to function, and that was all Thranduil really cared about. But he knew that Elrond had a different definition of fine. He removed his shirt.

“By the Valor, Thranduil! What happened to you,” Elrond said as he rushed to him.

“I already told you what happened.”

“You hardly told me anything. At least it looks like you are mostly healed, and some of the scars are nearly gone. Though this wound on the shoulder puzzles me, it should be much further healed. Come sit on the couch, it will make it easier.”

Thranduil could imagine the surprise Elrond felt. It was not a nice sight, he was aware. His upper body was a patchwork of scars in varied states of healing. The majority were pale strips on their way to disappearance, but the wound on his shoulder was another matter. Whatever poison they had used to capture him had made the healing process slow and arduous. Though what Thrandiul had not imagine was the anger that seem to simmer below the surface underlined each of Elrond’s words

“It was made by an arrow...a poisoned arrow,” Thranduil disclosed.

Elrond's eyebrows pinched together, “Do you know what type of poison?”

“No. Though it does not appear to be fatal,” Thranduil said in a dry tone.

Elrond glared at him, “Just hold still,” he said as he put his hand the wound.

Thranduil felt the heat start rising on his shoulder and saw the light in the healer shine brighter. Then the throbbing pain started to ebb away and he let out a relieved sigh.

“There, was that so bad?” Elrond said.

Thranduil did not appreciate being talked to like an elfling, but he guessed he deserved it, so he bit back a sarcastic remark and instead said, “No Elrond, it was not so bad. I thank you.”

“You are welcome. Now it should finish healing on its own without complication.” He then handed Thranduil a set of clothes, and his tone became softer. “I will let you go put these on and then rest. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Elrond,” Thranduil said as he headed toward his room, he had neither the inclination nor was he in the mood to try to get to the bottom of the other elf’s anger. He missed Elrond's eyes grow hooded and aged with sorrow as they watched him leave.

* * * 

In the next week, they fell into a semblance of a routine--in that the two elves mostly kept to themselves. Well, Thraduil kept to himself, and Elrond not wanting to leave him alone for too long, kept to himself along with him. Though he would never say, Elrond was worried about the other elf. Thranduil spent his time learning what he could from Elrond in the way of language, and the other time looking for quiet places to sit and, from what Elrond could tell, stare into the distance. Surprisingly enough Thranduil never asked Elrond to leave him alone, choosing instead to ignore him in those quiet moments. Though he also seemed to spend some time dodging Mrs. Beaver who had decided that he needed fattening up. It was really very funny, though apparently Elrond was the only elf who thought so. 

Their routine of Thranduil staring off into the distance and Elrond staring at him stare, was interrupted by a nervous looking faun asking them to follow him. He led them to what looked to be a meeting room, it was more private than the throne room, but still made for things of importance. After being let in they waited by the door. Elrond himself would have wished to have more information as to why they had been summoned, but that had not been a possibility. All they could do was be patient and wait.

The room was filled with the different types of creatures that Elrond had come to expect. Some looked to have only just returned from patrol and were still in their mud stained uniforms. Standing at the head of an oval table, in the middle of the room, were the two Kings, who were deep in conversation with General Oreius and a Satyr with muddy armor. It was King Edmund that saw them first, and with a gesture for them to walk further into the room he said, “Thank you for joining us.”

He spoke slow enough for Erond to understand and respond with a respectful bow of the head. Thranduil followed his lead, though his head “bow” was more of a nod. Even here, he was still a King in his own right, and though he was respectful he never gave more than was necessary to not offend. Though it looked to Elrond that the Kings did not mind, but the High General definitely did mind. Elrond made a note to talk to Thranduil about it at a later date. King Peter had begun talking and though Elrond could not understand every word he said, he did understand--for the most part--the meaning. There was someone he wanted them to meet. King Peter gestures to a corner to his left. Elrond and Thranduil’s view was blocked by a centaur and two men, which caused them to need to move forward to see who the King was referring to. 

Elrond thought that nothing else would surprise him at this point, but he still found his eyes widening when they met with the surprised face of Celeborn.

“Elrond! Thranduil! You are here. But how!” Celeborn took a step toward them in his surprise. It seemed that his view had also been blocked.

General Oreius did not seem to like that, as he too took a tense step forward with a hand on one of his swords, which in turn caused all the other soldiers to tense. Elrond did not like it, but he understood. The General did not want the new elf to take any steps toward the Kings, especially not now that he had obvious comrades in the room.

Celeborn unflinchingly met the gaze of the General and then slowly and deliberately took a step back.

“Stand down, General,” Even if he had not understood the words Elrond would have understood the meaning. High King Peter did not raise his voice, but the authority in his words was unmistakable and the General responded. 

Elrond looked back to Celeborn and his brows pinched at his appearance, “How do you fare, Celeborn?”

“I fare fine, I assure you.”

“I believe Elrond was referring to the blood covering your tunic,” Thranduil's tone bordered on bored. 

“This?” Celeborn looked down at himself, “There is no need to worry. It is not mine.” He then looked up and met both their eyes in turn, then said, “I am very glad to see you both.”

“The sentiment is returned,” Thranduil said, though he had a very aloof manner about him. Elrond understood from where his reputation came from. In Thranduil's world, weakness, and really in all their worlds, was dangerous, and in the hands of a King emotion could be weakness. So he kept himself in check, especially now in another Kingdom in a room where anyone could be an enemy as easily as a friend. And going by the small smile on Celeborn's lips, he understood.

“And I assume you will not be opposed to me making sure you really are alright?” Elrond said.

With a regal bow of his head Celeborn said, “Of course not.”

Elrond gave Thranduil a pointed look, ‘see, this is how elfs are supposed to react to a healer’ he tried to say with his gaze. Thranduil ignored him.

“It seems that you know each other,” King Edmund said.

“Yes, your Majesties, we do. This is Celeborn,” Elrond said. 

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Celeborn,” said King Peter.

Elrond translated for Celeborn and then relayed his response. Knowing that anymore conversation would be difficult, the Kings dismissed the three of them.

They drew some curious glances as they walked down the halls toward the guest quarters. The main reason most likely being that one of them looked like he had bathed his clothes in blood.

“We are near the same size, Celeborn,” Thranduil looked Celeborn over, “Give or take an inch or two. You can use some of my clothes until they can make you some,” Thranduil broke the silence that they had been walking in. They all had seemed to be waiting for privacy before diving into the why’s and how’s of their predicament.

“Thank you, It is much appreciated,”

They once again fell silent. Their situation was not one for idle chatter. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which discussions are had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to apologize for the delay in this chapter, but I'm afraid finals almost had the best of me, and there wasn't much time for anything else.

Celeborn looked at himself in the full length mirror. Thranduil's clothes did not fit perfectly since Thranduil was an inch or two taller than Celeborn--they were a bit long in the sleeve and tight around the shoulders--but they were adequate. Elrond had examined him to make sure that he really was alright and after a hard stare from the healer, Celeborn admitted that he had gotten a few ribs broken in his altercation with the giants, but they had since then healed and there was nothing to worry about. Elrond had looked unimpressed.

Stepping out into the foyer, Celeborn laid eyes on the other two elves. Thranduil was lounging on the couch, while Elrond was leaning against the fireplace. 

“Thank you for the use of your room and clothes, cousin,” Celeborn said. He decided that since he had been forcefully removed from his home, he much rather it be with his cousin than the Woodland King. There was no place for titles when the goal was survival. 

Thranduil inclined his head, though when he spoke it was of a different matter, “I assume, you as well, were brought here against your will?”

Celeborn nodded, “Aye, I was drawn to a tree and my faculties were taken away from me as I...for lack of a better description, was pulled in.”

Elrond was nodding, “it was much the same for us, though in my case it was a waterfall. Yet it seems that I had the least violent entrance into this realm.” 

“Well my violent entrance was giants, what was yours then, Thranduil?” 

“Men.”

Celeborn waited, but Thranduil did not elaborate. He looked at Elrond but could not meet his gaze as the Noldo was staring at Thranduil in one part sympathy and two parts annoyance.

His son by marriage was different here. And perhaps it was that he was all here. In this land he was not torn asunder, with his feet on the earth and his heart reaching for a place beyond the sea. Whatever had happened had brought Elrond here, and solely Elrond. Whatever had happened it would have to be talked about later, perhaps in a quiet moment when all other questions had been asked.

“Tell me what you know of this place. I am afraid my experience is only with the patrol that found me

* * *

“What do you think of them?” Peter’s voice reverberated around the comfortable room.

It had been two days since the third elf had arrived, and they had all met to discuss the three elves' mysterious appearance. The fact that they appeared wasn’t the issue. It was Narnia, weirder things had happened, but when three of the same beings turn up in three different places and somehow all end up at the Narnian capital, well there are questions that must be asked, and caution must be taken.

“I do not trust them,” General Oreius practically growled.

“We are aware of your feelings on the matter, General,” Edmund spoke, “as I am sure our visitors are aware as well”.

“I like them,” Lucy’s musical voice caused all eyes to turn to her, “I do not understand what you have against them, General. I mean, one of them was a captive of the Coloman, it should garner some sympathy at least. Do you not think?”

“But what if he was not a captive and it was merely a ruse? A way to get him into the company of the King?” The General would not be swayed.

“No Oreius, I do not believe that. The wounds inflicted upon him were no ruse, nor the way he made a fool of that Prince,” Peter couldn’t avoid the smirk that accompanied the memory.

“Besides, they did not even understand us. Even now, they have difficulty with our language,” Lucy, once again spoke, “How could they report something they do not understand”.

“I do believe ignorance, my Queen, is very easy to portray,” the General would not be swayed.

Susan, who had, as of yet, remained silent, made her way to the grand windows that gave view into one of the quieter gardens. “It seems,” she said, “That it is not just our Lucy who seems to have taken a liking to our guests”.

Her words made her siblings as well as the General to converge upon the window, where they could see their three visitors lounging about the garden. Though they were not alone, for a plethora of Narnian citizens had seemed to find their way to the new interesting beings. The blond one had a lap full of fox cubs as he sat cross-legged on the ground; where a silver head looked to have become a perch for some curious birds, and the dark haired one entertained some also curious squirrels where they both shared a stone bench. 

“Would you look at that,” Lucy said, “It seems some of the citizens do not share your misgivings, General.” 

“It does seem that way, my Queen, but neither do they keep the security of Narnia forefront on their minds.”

“So what do you propose, General?” Edmund asked, “Surely not that we lock them up when they have done nothing?”

“I merely advise caution, your Majesty,” the General said, “We cannot let our guard down simply because we like them. One has already healed from grievous injuring at a very rapid pace, the other killed three giants without aid. They are dangerous.”

“As always, you are right General, though we had no plan to let anything of the sort happen,” Peter said.

“But they are not violent,” Lucy insisted.

“They may not be violent, but they have the capacity for it. It hangs about them in their stance and alertness,” the General said, “I suggest, your Majesties, that we assign a guard to each.” 

“But they have done nothing to warrant such treatment,” Lucy protested.

“By the time they do do something, it could be too late,” the General said.

“He is right, Lucy. It would be a wise precaution,” Edmund said, “What do you say Peter?”

Peter took a moment to answer as he weighed the options, but then he said, “I do not like it, but as you said Ed, it would be a wise precaution.”

“I suppose that settles it then. Though your guards are merely to observe, General. There will be no hostility,” Susan spoke with the command of a Queen.

“Of course,” the General bowed, “Your Majesties,” and with that, he left the room.

“I do not like it one bit,” Lucy said as she too left the room.

A silence was left in the wake of the two departures. Peter let out a deep sigh and walked back over to the window. His gaze was heavy as he watched the three newcomers in the garden.

“What is it, Peter?” Susan asked as she came over to stand beside him.

“I am not quite sure, I just fear losing their trust--what little of it we have. I can not help but feel that we will need it, and once lost it will not be easy to get back.” 

* * * 

“I do wish I could understand them,” Elrond said as he looked at the squirrels. They spoke much too fast for him.

“I am sure it will not be too long,” Celeborn said as he helped a mother bird untangle her son from his hair, “From what I see, you have made great progress in the language already. What do you think, Thranduil?”

“huh?” Thranduil looked up from where he had been entertaining the fox cubs.

Celeborn frowned. That was not a normal response for Thranduil, who was always eloquent. “I was asking about what you thought about Elrond’s grasp of the language,” he said.

“Yes of course, forgive me,” Thranduil looked at Elrond, “You have made great progress and I have appreciated the help you have given me in my own learning.” 

When he finished talking, he went back to paying attention to the foxes. One looked to be asking a question with his back paws on Thranduil’s lap and front paws balanced on his chest. 

“I am sorry, little one, but I can not understand you,” Thranduil said.

The fox soon gave up trying to be understood before he and his packmate’s mom appeared and called them away. The birds were also able to get untangled from Celeborn’s hair and they too left with the mother scolding her chick for her carelessness and soon the three elves were left alone. Celeborn looked down at Thranduil, where he still sat on the grass, and couldn't help but let out a sigh at the far off look in his eyes. 

“What are you thinking of Oropherion?”

The use of his last name pulled Thranduil out of whatever reverie had taken hold of him. Looking toward Celeborn he said, “I am simply thinking of my people.”

“They are strong, Thranduil.” Elrond said.

“Yes, they are strong. They have to be, it is the only thing that keeps them alive,” There was a bitter edge to Thraduil’s stoic tone.

Celeborn got down off the bench and squatted right before Thranduil, “We will get back,” he said.

Thranduil opened his mouth to respond, but the sound of a hoof scraping on rock caused his attention to move to the arrival of three guards: one human, a centaur, and a dwarf. Thranduil did not react before he spoke, “It looks like our guards have arrived.”

“Why? We have done nothing wrong,” Elrond said.

Celeborn let out a sigh and moved back to the bench.

“We did not have to do anything wrong,” Thranduil said, “They have a Kingdom to protect and we are but strangers with questionable stories and questionable intent. I would do no different.”

“Yes, Thranduil is right. It was only a matter of time before it came to this,” Celeborn agreed, “We just have to make sure we do not escalate matters,” He finished with a pointed look at Thranduil.

“Why do you look at me?” Thranduil asked, insulted.

“Because, my dear cousin, you have a habit of finding trouble. And if you do not find it...you make it.”

“I do not know of what you speak of, Celeborn, for I am a perfectly behaved ellon who wishes nothing but peace in all situations.” Thranduil draped about him an air of regal authority so convincing that if he had not known him since he was an elfing, Celeborn just might have believed him.

Elrond let out a laugh, “Come now, Thranduil, Celeborn does have a point.”

Thranduil deflated, “I suppose he does. For what was I doing but minding my own business when I was taken against my will to this place.” Celeborn raised his hand in a gesture of well there you go, but before he could follow the gesture up with a response, Thranduil continued talking, “Of course, I was not alone in my trouble, was I? And that would seem to suggest that I am not the only trouble oriented ellon in the vicinity.”

Celeborn rolled his eyes and said, “I suppose you also have a point there.”

“I usually do,” Thranduil said. There was a long pause, “I do hope the dwarf is not mine.”

Celeborn let out an unlordly snort, “Well I do not want the dwarf either.”

“I do not see how you two could argue about which guard is yours,” Elrond said.

“You can have the dwarf then, Elrond,” Thranduil said.

“I doubt they will let us choose our own guards,” Elrond was trying very hard not to roll his eyes.

Thranduil’s lips curled in what could only be a smirk and with a look in his eyes that very clearly taunted watch me, he got up. He walked towards the guards, pointed at the centaur and with a gesture to follow, walked away. The guard exchanged a quick look with his compatriots before following.

“It looks like Thranduil is still Thranduil,” Celeborn said in amusement.

“It would seem so,” Elrond said.

“Come now, let us make sure he does not get into any trouble,” Celeborn said.

And in tandem they both got up and followed in the wake of Thranduil.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which questions are asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone had a great Christmas even if it may have not been what was expected!
> 
> On another note, I have good news and bad news. The good news is that there is a new chapter and the next is mostly written. The bad news is that we are now at the end of what I had previously written and though I will try my best to keep up with posting, the post will most likely be farther apart from now on.

o0o 

The number of days continued to grow as did their grasp of the language. And Thranduil kept searching for quiet places to be, though he really had to work hard at losing Elrond, and now Celeborn, to truly be alone. Though he never struggled to lose his guard. Thranduil needed the quiet.

“What is it that you’re doing?” The soft femanine voice pulled him back from the place he had been searching within himself.

He looked up and was greeted by Queen Lucy. She blocked the sun from his eyes and as if to proclaim its joy at having her bask in its rays, it haloed her head in golden light. Her question echoed in his head. How does he explain? How can he tell her that he is searching down his bond for his people, his kingdom. And that it hurts to feel it stagnant. That to be so used to having such life be a part of him and to then find it nearly void hurts. But it's still there. There is still a bond, but he can not reach the otherside, and it causes an ache inside him. How can he explain that?

“I am searching,” he says at last.

“What are you searching for?” She is innocently curious. Unaware of the pain the question causes.

He takes a deep breath and rises, “I am searching for something I lost.”

Her smile is gentle and she nods towards the near trees. “Would you like to join me?”

He can’t turn her down, she is a queen and here he is no one. “Lead the way, your Majesty,” he said with a gesture and a bow of the head.

As they make their way toward the trees, Thranduil's centaur guard joins them. He gives Thranduil an annoyed glance, which Thranduil returns with a blank stare. 

It's a peaceful afternoon, and Thranduil lets himself relax as they walk down the soft forest floor. He can hear the rush of a small waterfall nearby and wonders if that's where she’s leading him. They soon come upon it and the queen sits on a rock and dips her toes in the water, which causes Thranduil to realize for the first time that she was barefoot. 

“Come join me,” she said.

Thranduil lowered himself to a rock beside her and let his fingers trace through the water. He tried to prepare for any questions she might have, though he hoped she would not get personal. 

“Do you like the woods?” she asks.

He sees the expectancy in her face and knows it's a true question. “Yes,” he says, “I like the woods.”

She stares at him a bit longer, nods her head, and then looks at the water. She reaches out and lets the falling water run over her hands. “I love the woods. I also love the beach and the mountains. But the woods are special, they feel like home. You’ll have to come to a dance one of these nights. The fauns and the dryads dance all night, it's just wonderful…” her voice trails off.

Thranduil let her voice fully calm him as he remembered his own peoples’ night time dances. The elves of Mirkwood would fight hard and play hard. More dangerous and less wise is what they call them. And it may be true, but it is a danger born out of necessity. And as for their wisdom, well it's a wisdom different from the high elves, it's not born of books and legends, but it's born of blood and war. It's a wisdom that has kept Thranduil's people alive, and that's all that he cares about.

There was a shift in the atmosphere, and a shiver went down Thranduil's spine. He looked up at the centaur where he stood a few feet away. “Do you feel it?” he asked.

The centaur looked around, “Yes, something has changed.”

“What is it?” Lucy asks.

“Come on, your Majesty. It is best if we return,” Thranduil said, as he stands up and gestures for Lucy to come with him. 

The queen had just gotten to Thranduil's side when it happened. The first sign that Thranduil had was a gutteral screech, and then there were dark figures coming toward them. In a quick move, Thranduil grabbed Lucy and dove to the ground, just in time to miss a set of arrows that were aimed at their heads. He then quickly came up and found himself face to face with an orc. He dodged a sword thrust, grabbed the ocrs sword hand, and then twisted. He ignored the painfilled howl as he then, with full force, shoved his knee into the orcs face, crushing it. Thranduil didn’t watch the orc fall. He grabbed the sword from the useless hand and quickly turned to meet a new opponent. 

“Elf scum,” the new orc said in its guttural speech. 

Thranduil easily dodged its blow and then in quick succession, he ran the orc through. The hot black blood dripped from the blade onto his hand. He felt a slight shift in the air and moved in time to dodge a blade aimed at his head. He was now faced with a bigger orc who wore actual armor--each piece a prize from a kill. 

It’s voice was low and grating, as it began to describe how it will make Thranduil's death painful and how it would degrade his body.

Thranduil smirked, it was a cold unfeeling thing, and said, “That will be hard to do without a head.” And before the orc could respond, a mighty cut from Thranduil's sword went right through its neck, and then as if in slow motion, the head fell off.

A quick look around told Thranduil that all the orcs were dead. Two lay at the feet of the centaur. And to his surprise, one was dead at the feet of the queen with a perfectly placed dagger in its heart. Though, it was easy to tell that the orcs had been more interested in Thranduil himself. 

“Are you alright, your Majesty?” he asked

“Yes I’m alright,” Queen Lucy said a bit breathlessly, “What were those things?”

Thranduil looked around at the dead orcs, “Fowl. Come, let's get you to the castle.”

The guard then came up beside them and gestured to the bloody sword still crutched in Thranduil’s hand. Without breaking eye contact, Thranduil slowly gave it to him. Then he turned and begane walking back down the path. Let the guard watch over his own queen, he thought. Of course, was another bitter thought, the blame for the attack would fall on his shoulders. He probably shouldn’t have responded to the orc.

o0o 

Peter had a headache. If what Oreius feared was true, then their trust had been broken and his little sister's life had been put in danger. That he could not abide by. He looked at his siblings where they perched on the thrones beside his. He was sure they thought the same as him, if the intensity in their gazes was anything to go by. He did wish Lucy had not come though, but she had insisted, stating she was fine and had a right to be present.

The large Throne room doors were opened and the three elves were let in. Peter set his gaze and straightened his back--he was High King and he would present himself as such. The elves made their way down the long stretch between the door and the thrones. They did not hurry nor did they seem to slow their steps in trepidation. They merely walked in calm confidence. Peter could see that occasionally one would say something to the others, but their words were much too soft for human ears. 

A loud bang resounded throughout the throne room followed by the booming voice of the General, “You now know our language, and you will be expected to speak it!”

Peter looked at the three elves as they now stood before the thrones, there seemed to be a palpable difference about them since the General’s words. He could not see it, but he felt it--a chilling of the air around them. 

They presented their half bows and then Elrond, who stood in the middle, spoke, “Forgive us your Majesties, we mean no offense. We simply tend to forget ourselves and fall back on our own tongue.”

Peter did not believe that they ever forgot themselves, at least not in front of others. There always seemed to be weight to their actions. Every raised brow, laugh, and gesture was molded to their necessity. Peter could not claim to know them well, he was much too busy to have spent any amounts of time with them in the past few months; yet in the moments he had been with them they had been highly aware of themselves and others (though except maybe the times they had first laid eyes upon each other--but that could be forgiven them). Though perhaps he could try to claim some knowledge of Thranduil. Yet, if he was being honest with himself, all he could really say of the elf is that he was not easily broken. 

“Of course, and no offense was taken,” Susan said with a pointed look at the General.

“I am sure you are curious as to the reason for your summons,” Edmund got straight to the point.

Elrond inclined his head in aquicence, “Yes, your Majesty would be correct.”

Peter wondered if they had decided that Elrond would be their spokesman or if he had just naturally fallen into the role. “We have certain questions in regards to the recent attack. I believe you were there, were you not Thranduil.” It had not been a question. Peter was not in a mood to play at pleasantries. He’s sister had been in danger, and he was going to get to the bottom of it. And it would be on his own terms, if they wished for Elrond to answer their question then he would aim his question at the others, beginning with Thranduil.

“Yes I was there,” Thranduil answered the non-question.

“And is it true you knew those...beasts?”

“Not those beasts, as you call them, specifically.”

Oh he was good.

“I believe my brother was asking whether you had seen their kind before,” Edmund said.

“Yes, I have.”

“And you know them well enough to understand their language?”

“Yes, I understand some of it.”

“And what did the one you spoke with in the attack say?”

“He was merely informing me of the ways in which he would make my death painful.”

“And what did you respond?”

“I in turn informed him that what he planned would be hard to accomplish once I removed his head.”

“And then what did you do?”

“I removed his head.”

Susan uncomfortably cleared her throat. “Thank you for telling us Thranduil. I believe, now that you can, it is time that you tell us of your beginnings.”

“I am afraid, Your Grace, that a recital of our beginnings would take a very long time,” Celeborn spoke now.

And Peter was glad. At least his answers might be longer than Thranduil’s one sentence answers.

“But,” Celeborn made eye contact with the other elves and something passed between them before he continued speaking, “We are now able to share of our arrival in your realm.”

That got everyone's attention and Peter sat a bit straighter.

“Our realm? So you are of another realm?” he asked.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“What sort of realm?” Lucy spoke for the first time.

“It is a realm much like your own. There are mountains and rivers and cities of stone. There are good creatures and there are those that wish harm.”

“And of what creatures would you be a part of?” Peter asked.

“We try to be good,” Celeborn said, “We have fought the shadow for many a long year.”

“Shadow?” Edmund asked with a raised brow.

“They are those who wish harm, such as the creatures that attacked the Queen.”

“And how did you and such creatures leave your...realm?”

“That is a question that we have, as of yet, found no answer to.”

“You see, Your Majesties,” Elrond continued the narrative, “It was quite sudden and not a choice made of our own free will. We were in our home and then we were not. We do wish we could be more forthcoming as to the how of our arrival, but our lack of knowledge does not allow us that.”

Peter found himself believing them. Perhaps it was the sincerity of Elrond’s gray gaze--the appeal to believe the truth of his words. Or maybe it was the warmth of Celeborn’s voice that would make anyone think that to not believe what he said would be the same as not believing that a tree grew skyward. 

Peter looked at Thranduil. He had remained silent other than to answer the specific question asked of him. He had not infused his words with warmth nor had he allowed his gaze to add to his claims. He answered what they asked of him, but he would give no more. This elf was someone important--they all were. It was stated in the straightness of their backs and the glint in their eyes. But Thranduil seemed to carry himself with an extra alertness, as if at any moment he expected an army to fall upon him, and if such a thing did occur, he would not be caught in any weakness. And now that Peter saw their innocence, he could admit that it was such a mindset that saved his sister.

“I believe that all your questions have been answered,” Lucy looked at her siblings, “at least the ones that brought this...meeting...about.” Peter knew she had been very close to saying hearing, and she would not have been wrong. “But I believe that there is one very important matter left to cover, and that is the offering of my thanks,” She held Thranduil’s gaze, “Thank you dear Thranduil, for I am fully convinced that you saved my life.”

Thranduil bowed, it was not a full bow, but it was deeper than anything he had done before. And when he rose again, there was a change about him. His lips curved upward in an almost smile and there was a merriment in his eyes that made them look like a cloudless summer sky. “There is no thanks necessary, dear Lady, I am only glad that the joy you bring to this world was not cut short.”

“Nevertheless, it is given,” Peter said, and Thranduil once again bowed, though not as deep as before.

“Though I believe that we still have some questions,” Edmund said.

Susan looked across Peter to Edmund with an annoyed look before looking back toward the elves. “Yes, but I am sure that those questions can wait until after lunch, which I hope our guests will join us at.”

“It would be our pleasure, Your Majesty,” Elrond answered.

“Well then, let's not tarry. I am sure we are all suitably famished. If you will follow us.”

And with that susan dismissed the attending lords and soldiers and led the small delegation to the private dinning area of the royals. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which answered are given.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update, but life has decided that it has its own ideas about what I do with my time, so this story will no longer have regular updates. But I will try to update at the very least, once a month--hopefully more than that, but I don't want to break any promises. This chapter is shorter than the others, but I figured it was better that I updated with a shorter chapter than to wait longer. I would also like to thank everyone for all the comments and kudos, its a better reception than I had anticipated, and I promise that I will see this story to the end!

o0o

They had mostly small talked during the meal, well Susan and Lucy mostly carried the conversation, with Edmund occasionally commenting. Peter himself stayed silent for the most part and took the time to study their guests. He knew them all in a vague sense. Their differences were in their appearance--dark, blond, and silver--it was all he really knew of them. It was not right, and he intended to fix that. So he just watched and listened.

Thranduil liked the apple cake, Elrond the raspberry scone, and Celeborn had yet to taste any desert. Celeborn only spoke if it was necessary, which surprised Peter, who had thought that it would be Thranduil that kept quiet. Yet it seemed that Thranduil enjoyed changing topics at whim. While Elrond did not seem to mind carrying the conversation. It was all very interesting, and they were very good at small talk. They talked of the different animals that had come up to introduce themselves and how nice the trees were, and nothing about themselves.

At last the meal was over and it was time for the real talk. Peter wanted to know who these elves were that he had let into his kingdom and eat at his table. “Why don’t we sojourn to the balcony, and then we can talk about the matter of your arrival,” he said.

“That sounds like a great idea,” Edmund agreed.

The afternoon sun glinted off the grand balcony as they all sat. His siblings waited for Peter to speak first, though he took a moment to weigh his guests. They did not flinch at the High King’s gaze.

“Tell your story now, friends,” he spoke at last, “and leave nothing out.”

Peter listened as they began to speak. They told of a different world that seemed to be in constant battle. Peter knew evil. He had fought it as a boy--an impressionable child. And it had impressed itself upon him. He had felt it in the cold smile and still colder eyes, and at times he can still feel it as he too bares his teeth in war. Yet to fight it for millenia, it is a burden. A burden he does not know he could carry. Yet there is a part of him that knows he would, for his family, for his people, and to the detriment of himself--he would. He’s High King. 

And with that knowledge, he looks at the elves, and knows they have left something out. They are leaders, and they carry that burden. Peter can see it. But they do not speak of their status, merely the state of their land and how they arrived to this world.

“Tell me,” Peter said when they had finished speaking, “Who are you in your world?”

“Pardon, Your Majesty?” Elrond asked.

“In your world, what was your status? It is easy to see that you are leaders. What are you leaders of?” Edmund inputted.

The elves looked at each other as the silence hung heavy. Then they looked at the sovereigns and Elrond spoke, “We are Lords.” He gestured to Celeborn and himself.

That made sense, Peter thought, then he looked at Thranduil and their eyes met. For a moment it was as if the sky and sea warred in their gazes, until at last the two forces realized they could both hold sway of the same earth. And then Thranduil spoke, “I am king.”

That also made sense, Peter looked between the three elves. Though they had all acted as equals, not two beings subordinate of the other.

“Are you all of the same Kingdom then?” Susan asked. Her thoughts must have been running in the same vein as his. Though if Peter were a betting man, he would bet that all four of their minds were running in the same vein. It is what gave them the ability to run a Kingdom together.

“No, Your Majesty,” Celeborn said, “We are all heads of our own realms. 

“Well then,” Peter said, “It would seem that we are then on equal standing.” He then stood up. “Thank you for telling us your story. My sibling would greatly enjoy hosting you for the afternoon, and though I too would enjoy it, I am afraid I have affairs to attend to.” And with a slight bow of the head, he left.

He knew Susan would take him to task later for seeming rude, but he had things to think about and security to look over. There were dark creatures in his forest and he would not stand by it.

On the way out he ran into General Oreius. “General. How is our forest?” he asked.

“I have troops combing it, Sire. So far we have found nothing.”

“Alright General, keep me apprised.”

“Of course, Sire.”

“Oh and General, remove the guards from our guests. They are to be treated as royal dignitaries from now on.”

“Sire?”

“I will explain later Oreius,” Peter said as he walked off. He had many things to think about, as well as meet with the captains of the troops that were patrolling. 

o0o 

Thranduil let Elrond and Celeborn tell their story as he watched the sovereigns. After the battle they had spoken and decided that if asked they would share their true statuses. Even though the oldest of the Kings and Queens had barely touched into adulthood, there was a knowledge about them. They would know when they were being lied to. And as they finished, Thranduil looked at the High King and knew what the next question would be.

He did not want to divulge that he was King. It was dangerous, but they needed this alliance. It was a dangerous world, and they could not afford to lose the only allies they had. So he watched as the High King let the story soak in and then asked the question Thranduil was waiting for. 

He made eye contact with the High King and let his gaze turn hard. It was the gaze he used to pass judgment and stare across battlefields. It weighed. But the High King did not bend under the weight, but instead held it in his own gaze. And in the strength of the blue gaze across from him, Thranduil made his decision, “I am king,” he told them. And they did not seem surprised.

He watched the High King leave, and then turned his gaze to the remaining king and queens. He still felt uneasy at how young they all were. He did not see how they could be of any help in getting them home, but he had seen how their people loved them. They led by example and by a steady hand. And for their age they were not vassals, as Thranduil had seen in some mannish kingdoms, to be moved and swayed to another's whims. 

“We will help you in finding your way home,” King Edmund spoke, “I will send out some friends to keep their ears to the ground. You would be surprised all one can find if only they listen.”

Thranduil studied the younger king, he was as different as night and day from his brother. More prone to the background, and Thranduil realized that’s how this king liked it. There were deep things in his dark gaze. 

“Thank you,” Celeborn said, “We cannot say how much we appreciate your help.”

“We are more than happy to help in anyway we can,” Queen Lucy said with a warm smile.

“Of course, we always look after our allies,” Queen Susan added.

And the fact that things would most definitely change should they prove to not be proper allies hung in the air. Thranduil looked at who he had heard referred to as the Gentle Queen, and instead of being distracted by her beauty, as he assumed most men were, he took in the intelligence in her gaze. This could be a dangerous diplomat, he thought. Up until this point the only sovereign he had spent any time with was Queen Lucy, and though he could never fault her bravery, he questioned how such carefreeness could run a country. But he now understood. Her carefreeness did not run a country, it was only one fourth of a whole. A whole that overall seemed very capable and they would do well to keep on their side. 

Thranduil raised his glass as they all toasted to allies.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which trouble is at the door

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I'm back! My only excuse is that February can be renamed as insanity... Sadly though, its another short chapter, though I hope y'all enjoy it!

o0o

“Oron!” Peter’s voice reverberated throughout the hall.

“Yes my Liege?”

“Any word from the troops in the woods?”

“No sire, I am on my way to check in.”

“I think I’ll join you.”

“As you wish, Sire.”

There was a hush to the woods. It was unnatural. A breeze rustled the leaves on the tree tops and troops moved between trunks, and yet to Peter, all was still as he saw the dark blood staining the ruined grass. The only thing that penetrated his senses was its stench. It was abominable. 

“I want these...creatures...found,” Peter said with quiet fury, “I will not have them running amok in my forest and threatening my people.”

“Yes sire, If they are to be found, we shall find them,” Oron said.

“Sire!” A small bird landed in Peter's outstretched hand. “Sire, King Edmund requests that you join him in the private meeting room. Your attention is required immediately.”

“Thank you, Cousin. You may inform my brother that I am on my way.”

“At once, Sire!” The little bird said as he took off from Peter’s hand.

o0o

Peter was not prepared for what met him in their private meeting room. A dryad, weak and sickly sat before Edmund and his sisters.

“Ah Peter. It's good of you to come,” Edmund said.

“What is the problem, dear brother?” Peter asked.

“This is Foliage, a dryad from the Western Wood. He has some disturbing news.”

Peter looked at the dryad, “Please, my dear cousin, share your news.”

The dryad looked up, the leaves that framed his face were brown and withering and he smelt of rot. 

“We have been attacked your Majesties,” His voice was a mere whisper.

“Attacked! Who would dare intrude upon this land?” Peter felt the anger that had been simmering inside him rise.

“We do not know. We have not seen it. But it is as if a darkness has descended upon the Western Wood, and it is poisoning.”

“What a horrid thing!” Lucy said in dismay. 

“It's despicable!” Susan agreed.

Peter sat silently, his chin on his fist, until he looked at Edmund and at last he spoke, “I want to know everything there is to know. Find out what this darkness is, and when we know, we will bring the full force of the Narnian army on it. Then let us see how strong this poison is.”

Edmund met his gaze square on, “I will go myself.”

“Oh can’t someone else go!” Lucy pleaded.

Edmund looked at her gently, “No, dear sister, I must see for myself. As well as it is my duty, for what sort of King would I be to ask it of another?”

“He is right,” Peter said, “Besides, he is the most qualified.”

A strangled sound brought all of their attention to the dryad. He had fallen to his knees and had seemed to wither even further, with crumbled leaves falling to his feet. 

“My tree,” he choked out, “It's on it!” 

“Lucy, bring your cordial!” Peter said as they hurriedly moved to the dryad.

Lucy was out of the room in a blink.

“It will be alright, Foliage,” Susan comforted, “Lucy will be here before you know it.”

And she was. As Foliage sucked in what seemed like a last breath, Lucy came running into the meeting room and, in what felt like slow motion, tipped one drop into the dryads mouth. He came to life. Sucking in a giant breath, the dryad sat up. Slowly, like the coming of spring, color began returning to his leaves and strength to his limbs. His scent was now of morning dew. 

“Can you tell us what happened?” Edmund asked

Foliage shuddered, then said, “I can not fully explain it. I know it was the darkness, but it was not only there in presence. It was on me. It moved and weighed and bent my boughs. And it left...remnants...on me, tying me down,” he paused, “It wanted nothing but death. My death, the woods death...just death. It craved it.”

Peter looked up at Edmund, “I’m coming with you.” 

o0o 

"You are not coming with me.”

“Yes I am. I am not letting you go there alone.”

Edmund very nearly rolled his eyes. He and Peter were having the discussion in their private parlor. They had made sure Foliage had been settled before they went to have what they both knew would be a long discussion. 

“Face it Peter, but stealth and espionage is not your forte. As you said, I’m the best qualified.”

Peter nearly growled, “I can manage.”

“I’ll find out what's happening...and i'll take my best Shadows with me,” Edmund refilled Peter’s wine glass, “And when we know what we are fighting, you can come with sword brandished at the head of an army.”

Peter sighed, “I don’t like it, Ed.”

“I know Peter, but I’m just as much a king as you are. And you don’t have a monopoly on the danger.”

“I know. It doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“None of us do.”

And with a toast they sat in silence. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes Foliage is a stupid name, but I couldn't think of anything else. And as for Edmund's Shadows, I can't remember if I read that in a fic a long time ago or not. So if anyone knows anything about that let me know so I can give proper credit!


End file.
